Gaunt's Ghosts: Swords of Steel
by Mighty Afro
Summary: A story based upon the Tanith First-and-Only, the brainchild of Dan Abnett. Set after Honour Guard
1. Morning Glory

This is a note to remind you all that Gaunt, the Ghosts, the Tanith and all the characters within are not mine, but belong to Dan Abnett and Games Workshop. I own all the other characters though.  
  
Gaunt's Ghosts: The Swords of Steel  
  
The Imperial Crusade of the Sabbat Star System continued in force after the valiant efforts of the Tanith regiment on Hagia, the Shrineworld of Saint Sabbat herself. After an investigation into the ancient psychic device that in effect saved the planet and destroyed the approaching Chaos fleet, Colonel-Commissar Ibram Gaunt and his "Ghosts" were reassigned to the taking of a heavily fortified position on the barren ash world of Volgan. Returned to his position by Macaroth himself, after being threatened with demotion and execution by Lord Commander Lugo who undertook the Hagia mission, Gaunt was recommended for the mission to Volgan, where his regiments newly found knack for tank killing would come in useful against the armoured forces of the Volgan heretics. Along with the Tanith First-and-Only was the tank regiment of the Albion 3rd to 12th, a three Warlord Titans from the Grim Reaper Titan Legion.  
Volgan was a planet rich in materials essential to the Imperial Crusade, and had many factories left intact after the rebellion. If they could liberate these factories, then they could produce munitions and armour in the heart of the enemy held planets, effectively giving them an edge that would be hard for them to counter.  
From - A History of Later Imperial Crusades.  
  
Chapter One: Morning Glory  
  
Gaunt squinted through the omniscopes, trying to find any sign of movement in the thick whirling cloud of dust that assaulted their bunkers. He was wasting his time; all he could see was a almost solid cloud of sand and small rocks, tinted green through the lenses of the device he held to his eyes. He slid the scope back into his belt, and climbed back down the ladder, shutting the shutters of the bunker to prevent any dust being blown in. He reached the bottom of the metal ladder, and wipes the layers of reddish-white dust from his camo cloak that he wore over his Commissars battle dress. He grabbed his peaked cap from its resting place on an empty oil drum, where he had left it so it wasn't blown off as he spied for enemy movement. Adjusting his clothing, he headed off down one of the long, narrow metal tunnels that lay beneath the thick piled sand that was the surface of Volgan. A few minutes of walking and the occasional bunker point led him to a wide chamber, with the same grey metal walls and luminous strip lights. All of one wall was taken up with a scanning machine, with various screen showing presumably what was going on outside; they all showed the same scene of whirling dust and barren plains. Seated in front of the machine was an old Sergeant from the Albion Tank regiments, a man he had been introduced as Sergeant Firth. Colonel Haygan, the commanding officer of the regiment, had advised he was added to Gaunt's desert watch team for his skill at almost any type of scanning machinery. The Sergeant appeared to be a likable sort, if rather inclined to swear, but Gaunt could see what Colonel Haygan meant; he hadn't left this chamber for three days, and only once had been caught napping. Firth turned as he heard Gaunt's footsteps clanking towards him, and smiled a gap toothed smile.  
'Good morning sir!' He said with chuckle and a salute, 'Ready to start the day, eh?'  
Gaunt gave the man a smile.  
'I just came for the nights readouts, although by the smell I can see you were trying to make coffee.'  
Firth gave a laugh, his wrinkled eyes gleaming.  
'The operative word there is "trying". The damn caffeine is about as biter as Albion Nectar-fruit.'  
'Here, let me offer you something,' Gaunt said, unhooking a flask from his belt. He twisted the lid off, and a pall of sweet smelling steam wafted from it. Sergeant Firth hesitated for a moment.  
'What's the matter Sergeant? Never had an officers rations before?' Gaunt said, pouring two healthy measures into a pair of mess cups. He uncorked a bottle of sacra that he carried in his breast pocket, and gestured to Firth if he wanted some in his coffee. The old man shook his head.  
'No thank you sir, got to stay alert like. But thank you for the coffee.'  
'Not a problem Firth,' Gaunt grinned. He seated himself on a box of munitions, and watched the screens flicker and change, too fast for him to comprehend.  
'Do you understand all this?' He asked the elderly Sergeant. Firth sipped his drink, and chuckled.  
'I damn well hope so, otherwise I've been wasting my time for the last six years. I've been the scanning officer for the Swords of Steel since we left Albion all those years ago. The old Colonel obviously hasn't bothered to change me, so I must be doing something right.'  
Gaunt nodded. The Swords of Steel; he had heard little of their victories, cleaning up the fringe worlds and working there way inwards and into the history books. What little Gaunt had heard was impressive to say the least; of how the Swords had run circles around the far superior forces of the Dewitt Heretics before tightening the noose and wiping them out to a man; of how, in a suicidal assault, they had broken through the barriers of the Fortress of Forever Night and driven straight up the six thousand steps of pain and torture, burning the disgusting and mind warping idols and chaotic relics before blowing the doors clean off and crushing the Arch-Duke of Chaos under their tracks; of how Colonel Haygan, in a moment of defeat at the hands of a damned Titan, had raised his tanks barrel for one last strike and blown the gigantic machines head clean off in an explosion of electric blue energy. Gaunt had only met Haygan once, but he felt a sympathetic liking for the hard worn commander. The Swords were a lot like the Ghosts in a way; among other tank regiments they were considered savage, uncouth, and that Haygan valued his crews life far too highly. What was the point of caring for a few men if, in a single explosion, they would all die? They argued. Haygan merely replied that if he DID care about all his officers, and train them and work them hard and stick by them through thick and thin, then they wouldn't be the ones in that explosion. The enemy would. This had earned him a bad reputation among tank commanders, but his compassion and impressive victories had turned more than a few heads, and there were even rumors that Macaroth intended to honor him with a personal congratulation for his efforts in the Crusade.  
Change the tanks for infantry, and you had the Ghosts to a tee. They were hated, and rejected, and looked down upon and sent to the worst scenes of war that made hell look inviting, but they got the job done and cursed the bastards that had sent them there as they went and did the impossible, more to spite them than to win back the world.  
'Are you alright sir?' Firth asked, snapping Gaunt out of his contemplation. He nodded his head, and took the scan reports he was offered with a grateful nod. He turned to leave, but spotted something on the mess of scanning screens.  
'Sergeant, what's that there?' He asked, pointing a finger to a heat scanner that spanned the network of tunnels they were currently in. In the top right hand corner, a smudge of yellow and red amidst the sea of green and black was creeping towards them, quite slowly. Sergeant Firth inspected it, and rubbed his stubbly chin thoughtfully.  
'We've had a few of them readings. Could be an invisible army though,' He said. He noted Gaunts blank look, and looked apologetic.  
'Sorry sir, an old scanner officer's term. You get a lot of these "invisible armies" on hot planets like Volgan; they're like little pockets of heated air that get trapped in the whirling dust clouds, so they can't escape and warm up more air, which gets bigger and bigger until they can span huge areas. When they pass over you, it's like the eye of a storm; all peaceful and stuffy, while all around there's this whirling cloud of sand and dust that could strip you to the bone in seconds.'  
'I see. But could a small task force travel inside such a pocket of air?' Gaunt asked.  
'Yes sir, that's why we've been scanning for movement as each one comes into range. So far they've all been empty.'  
'I see. Thank you Firth.'  
'Pleasure sir,' The old man grinned, tipping his light grey cap, 'Although it's strange; we've been getting more and more of them recently, and they tend to be spaced quite far apart. I'd better get on the blower to the nearest bunker point and ask for a quick scan.'  
'Excellent. Carry on,' Gaunt said, and strode away. Firth watched him go; he admired the Colonel-Commissar and his Ghosts. They reminded him of his own regiment; hard, tough men who did what most other regiments wouldn't do, like get their hands dirty and take the fight to the enemy. He swilled the coffee in his mouth, and grinned; this was GOOD stuff! He had to invite the Commissar over more often.  
As he drunk his coffee and tapped at the keyboard, the invisible pocket of air moved slowly towards them.  
  
In the barracks, Colonel Corbec was playing cards with "Try Again" Bragg, mad Larkin, Sergeant Soric from Verunhive and the regiments first preacher, Zweil. After the war on Hagia, the elderly priest had asked to join the regiment as its preacher/moral officer, and Gaunt had only been too willing to allow him to join the Tanith. The old preacher took a swig of sacra and raised his cards to his face, keeping them as far away from Larkin's keen eyes.  
'Four Titans,' He said triumphantly, laying down his cards, 'Read em and weep lads.'  
Zweil was about to reach out for the rounds wager, which was kept inside an upturned helmet, but Corbec held his hand.  
'Not so fast there preacher,' He said with a grin, laying his own cards down on the table, 'Two Emperors and two towers. Looks like I win this round, eh lads?'  
There was a series of mutters, and Zweil laughed.  
'How do you keep on winning like that?'  
'It take a lot of practice,' Corbec said with a grin. He settled back in his seat, and took a sip from his bottle of sacra, 'But if you don't mind me asking, isn't it a bit strange for a priest to drink and gamble? I'm sure the Emperor wouldn't approve.'  
'If the Emperor doesn't approve, he can tell me himself,' Zweil chuckled, clearing the table and putting a few candles and a hymn book in their place, 'But where is the harm in it? Gambling is only bad if you get addicted to it, and did not the Emperor, may he rule forever, drink fine wines that had a much higher alcohol content than sacra?'  
He took another sip from his own bottle, and coughed.  
'Although not by much by the taste of it,' He choked, 'Who makes this stuff?'  
'Bragg seems to be the only one that knows, and he ain't telling, Soric grinned, 'Although I'd be gakked if they don't simply take anti-freeze for the Chimeras and put it in bottles.'  
The whole room was filled with laughter for a moment, and Bragg emerged, grinning and bearing another box of sacra over one shoulder.  
In the next barrack chamber, Rawne pulled a face and settled down in his hammock with a data-slate of the enemies latest activities. For some reason they seemed to be staying in the heart of the desert, where it was nigh on impossible to track them but equally dangerous for the rebels. If they didn't emerge soon, then all the Imperial forces would find was a pile of bones stripped of every bit of flesh, if that. It just didn't make sense, but then again Rawne had long ago stopped trying to make sense of the tactics of Chaos.  
He looked around his chambers; he was sharing a cramped room with Feygor, his assistant, a nervous Verunhive recruit called Stimun, Caffran and of course, where you got Caffran you got Tona Criid. Rawne sneered; he was still highly skeptical about letting women into the regiment, as where many of the other Ghosts, but Gaunt was adamant in his decision. Besides, he'd have needed to use a las cutter to separate those two. Sure, the pair were efficient, and as far as he knew they hadn't done anything (yet he added mentally), but it was just a disaster waiting to happen. Two men had been shot when there was a dispute about a girl, and when you were a small infantry regiment you couldn't afford to go shooting your own men. He flicked the data-slate off, and passed it to Feygor, who passed him another fresh one.  
'I don't like it sir,' Feygor spat, 'We've been here for three days now. Command said they'd have those damn tanks here by yesterday, and so far we haven't seen jack.'  
'It's the damn storm, I know it,' Rawne agreed, 'It'll be messing with their sensors, making their equipment seize up and falter. We'll be lucky if we make it back tomorrow.'  
Feygor pulled a face. He looked like he was going to say more, when suddenly the door slid aside, and Kolea stepped in, flanked by one of the deaf loom girls turned Ghosts, Banda. She looked up at Rawne, sprawled in his hammock, and smiled sweetly, winking. Rawne drew himself up, and gave her a stern look in reply; Banda had saved his life on Hagia, but he was damned if he would let some simple hive girl flirt with a superior officer. She merely grinned all the wider at his annoyance, which made him REALLY angry. Before he could speak however, Kolea gave a smart salute.  
'The Colonel-Commissar has got word from the tank company,' He said, in his usual, lifeless voice, 'They'll arrive within three hours. We're to pack up and be ready to leave by then.'  
'Got it. You heard the man,' Rawne called to Caffran and Criid, who were talking quietly to themselves to one side, 'I want this stuff packed away as soon as possible. I'll go and make sure the others know.'  
'I'll come with you said Feygor, but before they could leave Kolea gave a polite cough.  
'I think that Banda would be of assistance; you'll need someone to sign to the other deaf members of the regiment.'  
Rawne blanched for a moment, and turned to Banda. She grinned at him, and gave him (to his increasing annoyance) another wink.  
'Alright, she can come. Feygor, gather the data-slates and help Caffran pack up,' He said. Feygor gave a sly grin.  
'You're in there, if you don't mind me saying sir.'  
'Feth you,' Rawne growled, and strode out the small chamber.  
  
Sergeant Firth was watching the heat scanner closely. It was definitely moving towards them, and it seemed a little too hot for a usual pocket of hot air. He might be wrong, but he wasn't willing to take that risk. Picking up the com-unit, or the blower as he liked to call it, he tapped in a link to Observation Bunker 67-GA.  
'Command to Bunker 67, respond,' He called down the speaker. There was a moment of rustling on the other side, and then a voice.  
'Bunker 67, go ahead,' Came the crackling response.  
'I've got a large heat reading here on the sensor. Could be an invisible army, but I want visual confirmation all the same.'  
'Copy Command. We've been picking up movement for the last hour, so this could be a live one.'  
'Affirmative 67. It should be passing over you right about………now.'  
Over the com-link, he noticed the sudden decrease of background noise as the storm of dust and sand passed over them. There was a brief pause, and then another response.  
'Seems all clear, negative sightings so far. Perhaps it was just a hot one?'  
'Perhaps. Can you see what was making the movement?'  
'No sir. Seems to be utterly clear….wait, I'm getting something. Huge spike of movement, three clicks north. Something's coming out the storm…..Holy Emperor! It's huge!'  
'Bunker 67, what's going on!?' Sergeant Firth yelled, 'What have you got on visual!?'  
'Fire the weapons! Fire them damn it, it's coming!' Was all Firth got in response, 'Command, request immediate backup, now damn it!'  
'Negative 67, retreat back through the tunnels to Command, and self destruct the bunker!'  
'Affirmative, I'll try and hol…..'  
Suddenly, the line went dead. Firth cursed, and tried to reconnect.  
'Bunker 67!? Respond, you bastards!!'  
Nothing but white noise greeted him. With a growl, he threw the ear-piece onto the desk, and looked up at the heat scanner. It was now totally over the Bunker 67 icon, and was getting close to the 43 and 89 bunkers as he watched. He tapped the com-set, and reset his ear-piece.  
'Command to all Bunkers. This is a red situation. All units are to fall back and seal off their positions to the enemy. Fall back to Command and await further instructions.'  
He switched the com-link off, and sighed. He'd better tell the Commissar……  
  
  
Well, there's the first chapter. Let me know if you want more, otherwise I'll go away and leave you alone LOL.  



	2. Defense

Chapter Two: Defense  
  
Let the Emperor be my shield when I need protection, my sword when I need to fight, and my guide when I need to find hope.  
A hymn from the Book of Saint Sabbat.  
  
Gaunt was seated in his private chamber, reading the nights data-slates from the various scans, when there was a knock on his door.  
'Come.'  
The door slid open to reveal Brin Milo, Gaunt's assistant and the all-round good luck charm for the Tanith Ghosts. The young man was a classic example of the people; dark haired, pale skinned and with a blue tattoo over one eye. He stood smartly to attention before the Commissar, and ripped off a salute in his black fatigues and camo cloak. The look of utter concentration on his face almost made Gaunt smile.  
'Yes Milo, what is it?'  
'Sir, Sergeant Firth from the Albion Regiment wishes to speak with you.'  
'Send him in,' Gaunt said, taking a seat. He was currently in his shirt and braces, his well muscled frame glistening slightly with sweat in the stuffy chamber. Milo nodded, and nodded to someone outside the door. Sergeant Firth came in, and nodded to Gaunt.  
'Sir,' He said, his face a serious mask, 'We've just lost Bunker 67.'  
Gaunt's smile faded; he had just though the officer was coming to thank him for the coffee. Cursing his stupidity, he stood up and grabbed his bolt pistol from the holster that hung from the back of his chair, checking the magazine was fresh.  
'How long?'  
'Two minutes ago.'  
'Why didn't you vox me?'  
'The lines are down. I only had enough time to order the retreat from the nearby bunkers.'  
Gaunt nodded; he was mildly annoyed that the Sergeant had made an order without his consent, but it was the order he would have done.  
'May I ask you not to make such an order without my approval again?'  
'Sorry sir, but this can't wait. I think I know what's out there, and how they're escaping detection.'  
Gaunt pulled on his battle dress, and nodded.  
'Go ahead.'  
'Remember that hot air pocket you pointed out? Bunker 67 had detected movement coming from it, but when it passed over them there was no visual contact with the enemy. What I think they're doing is skirting around the edge of the storm, just close enough to have their heat signatures hidden and stay hidden from sight. The only way we can track them is by movement, and that isn't the most precise way of tracking a target at the best of times.'  
'So we know they're out there, but not exactly where?'  
'Well, they'll be in the storm itself, keeping up with the gas pocket. When it passes over a bunker, they can pretty much attack from wherever they want with little warning.'  
'Excuse me Sergeant,' Said Milo, who had been standing to one side, 'But wouldn't they be torn to shreds by the storm?'  
'You've faced Chaos before lad,' Firth said darkly, 'I should think by now that you'd have given up trying to find common sense from a Chaos army. Their soul objective is to wipe out the enemy, no matter how many people they loose. And they wouldn't need many people either; a few armed with anti-bunker weapons could come out of nowhere and blast a position straight to hell, and simply slip back in again before support could arrive.'  
'So what you're telling me is that they can strike just about wherever they want now, and we can't track them?' Said Gaunt. Sergeant Firth rubbed his chin for a moment, and smiled.  
'Not necessarily. I have a device that might help us out, not standard issue mind you.'  
'Any help would be appreciated Sergeant,' Gaunt said. Firth grinned, and threw a salute.  
'You can count on me sir! I'll gather my lads and get to work setting it up.'  
'Very good Sergeant. Milo, since the vox unit is down I'll need you to relay my orders. Do you think you can do it?'  
Milo smiled, a nodded.  
'Good. Get Mkoll and his scouts to help you. I need every single Bunker we have left guarded and fortified. If we can hold out until the Swords arrive, we should be able to make a fighting retreat .'  
Milo and Firth both saluted, and hurried to their respective tasks. Gaunt did the last button on his battle dress up, glanced at himself in a shattered piece of glass that served as a mirror, and strode out into the corridor. Already there were Ghosts and a few of the Volgan Defense Force soldiers were rushing to their positions, las guns held ready in arms. Gaunt strode towards the nearest Bunker, and turned to find Milo standing waiting for him.  
'Sir, all bunkers from 20 to 45 are manned and ready for combat. The command is spreading through the tunnels as we speak.'  
'Good. Have Colonel Corbec take the right flank of tunnels, and Major Rawne the left flank. If we're to be without communications, then I want my best commanders taking charge at least. Tell them to use their initiative if something comes up.'  
'Yes sir,' Milo said, hurrying off through the press of bodies. The Ghosts in the bunker with Gaunt were looking at him expectantly, waiting for his command. The squads Sergeant, "Shoggy" Domor, gave him a grin, his optical implants whirring as he focused on the Commissar.  
'Is this it sir?' He said. Gaunt grinned.  
'Lets hope so, otherwise I've just made myself look a right fething idiot. Now man your posts men! If you see anything, report to me and start shooting!'  
  
Rawne and Banda were still spreading the message of the armoured companies imminent arrival when Trooper Maxim, a member of Scout-Sergeant Mkoll's squad, caught up with them.  
'Major Rawne sir!' He gasped, skidding to a halt from his headlong run, 'Message from the Colonel-Commissar!'  
'Feth, what now?' The Major growled.  
'The enemy sir! They've blown Bunker 67 and are heading for the defense line. Gaunt wants you on the left flank sir!'  
'Gakk!' Banda cursed, 'That's at least fifteen tunnels away! We won't be able to make it in time to set up a decent defense.'  
Rawne riled at that; if this had been Gaunt or Corbec of Koela or any of those other fethers, then no one would have doubted for a second that they could have made it in time. No one seemed to think he could o a damn thing right! Well, THAT train ended here.  
'Maxim, go gather the squads around here. Have them split into ten man teams and tell them to meet me in the cargo bunker in a minute. Go man!'  
The scout gave a hesitant salute, before rushing off. Banda gave the Major a questioning look.  
'Just what is it you've got planned?' She asked him. Rawne leered at her.  
'Wait and fething see,' He growled.  
  
Corbec had been assembling the men in his section of the underground bunkers for evacuation, when he received the message from Gaunt by Mkoll.  
'Sacred feth!' Corbec hissed to Mkoll, 'Are you sure?'  
'I'm not sure about anything at the moment,' Mkoll whispered back, 'The vox link is still down and I can't get any damn confirmation about if there IS a target, let alone where it is if it exists.'  
'Well, if Gaunt says to defend the bunkers until backup arrives, then we defend the bunkers till backup arrives,' Corbec said with a shrug. He turned to the Ghosts, and barked out the names of the squad leaders. Larkin, Varl, Soric and a dark, lanky officer from the Tanith called Garson stepped forward.  
'Alright, listen up. Gaunt thinks there's a chance we could be attacked before the armour arrives, so I need you to break open the weapons and pass them around.'  
'But we just finished packing the things!' Larkin began, but Corbec glared at him and he fell silent.  
'I don't care what you just did, just organize the boys and get up them fething ladders. I want fire teams in every defensible post we have, and get someone to man the fething defense guns; by the sounds of the reports, they have something big out there, and I want something that might be actually capable of taking it down.'  
The Ghosts scattered, dragging munitions boxes down from the trucks and breaking open crates of lasguns, tossing them into waiting hands. Corbec strode forward at the head of his own squad, and clambered up the ladder for Bunker 49.  
'Spread out, I want every gun slit covered,' He barked. The Ghosts moved into their positions, and waited. Corbec felt sick; this was the worst part. Well, the worst part was fighting a load of daemon-crazed lunatics, but the waiting was pretty bad too.  
  
It was warm and stuffy in the main hangar. Commissar Hark had taken off his peaked cap and unbuttoned his battle dress, showing his stocky form in his white vest, covered in sweat patches.  
HE didn't know why he had accepted. The Warmaster had offered him a new post with a much more respectable regiment, and yet he had stayed with the ghosts after the victory of Hagia. His excuse had been viable enough; that he was still suspicious of Gaunt's motives and if he was still a it commander, but these doubts had already been cast out when he had seen him battling with his men on Hagia. In his heart of hearts he had no idea why he was sticking with this run-down, thrice-cursed excuse of a regiment. Perhaps it was to find out how such a collection of grim faced murderers could actually form such an efficient fighting regiment. He had an idea of the answer; it was because Gaunt was in charge of them. No other commander, with the exception of perhaps one of the great leaders of olden times like Lord-Commander Solius, could have shaped a regiment out of these people. Hark was very much impressed, to say the least.  
A little distance away, Ann Curth watched Hark as the Commissar studied the massive hall around him. She pulled a face, before returning to her patient. Dorden watched her, summing up her mood easily.  
'You don't like him do you?' The old medic said, as he carefully put the last stitches into a wound to seal it tight. Curth looked across the operation table at him, mid-way through scrubbing a wound with disinfectant.  
'You noticed did you?' She said, a slight smile creasing her lips. She picked up a scalpel, and began to make a fine cut in the arm.  
'It's understandable; he nearly executed Gaunt, and he didn't win many popularity contests for himself.'  
'It's not just that. He just strikes me as…..odd,' The young woman said, dabbing a gauze cloth over the wound to stop the blood flow from getting out of hand, 'He should have left after Hagia, but he insisted on staying with us for the Volgan mission. Is he still suspicious of Gaunt, after all he's done to prove he's a damn fine commander?'  
'I really couldn't say,' Dorden sighed, washing his hands in a bowl of antiseptic water, 'It's a mystery to me to. Perhaps even Hark doesn't know why he's still here?'  
Ann gave a snort, which Dorden translated as disbelief. HE was about to move to the next patient when Kolea appeared through a doorway and headed towards him.  
'How are you Gol? Suffer an injury?' He asked, looking Kolea up and down for any sign of damage, but the big Sergeant shook his head.  
'We've got orders from Gaunt; we're coming under attack, and he wants the wounded loaded into any available transport and ready to leave in a hurry.'  
'What? Why didn't he vox us!?'  
'The vox-link is down due to the storm. I've been assigned to help you get anyone who isn't fit to fight into the transports and get ready to go.'  
'And where is this fighting taking place?' Hark said smoothly, walking up from being Kolea. The Commissar had an unlikable tendency to creep up on people mid-conversation and just inserting himself into it. Kolea turned to look at him coldly; it would appear the Vervenhiver didn't like him either.  
'It's taking place across all front. The enemy are expected to be well armed and ready for combat.'  
'And why wasn't I told?'  
'The vox-links are down sir. Sorry if you feel a little left out,' Kolea said flatly. The Commissars hand strayed across his plasma pistol for a moment, but didn't unbuckle it. A hard edge had entered his eyes.  
'I shall have to find the Commissar-Colonel and ask for orders myself then,' He said, equally flatly, and departed through a doorway. Dorden grinned.  
'Now you've gone and done it. He'll probably shoot Gaunt for not telling him there's a fight brewing.'  
Ann and Gol were both silent. Dorden sighed; if they had one fault, it was that they couldn't see a joke if it held a gun to their face and yelled insults at them.  
  
'Sir, what the Gakk do you think you're doing?' Banda asked, 'The left flank is still mostly defenseless, and you're here messing around with a load of cargo buggies?'  
Rawne turned to her, trying to keep his cool.  
'Look, don't push me right now,' He said, as the Ghost squads piled into the buggies, 'The left flank is a damn long way away on foot, but with these buggies, it'll be a lot faster, so keep quiet and help them lift the cargo off!'  
Banda was silent for a moment, face flushed with what Rawne could tell was anger, and then she rushed off and began to help the Ghosts unpack a crate of machine parts.  
Rawne sighed, and loosened his camo-cloak. For the first time, he really wished Feygor was here; his adjacent was rude, uncaring and a complete bastard, but at least it was in a way that was respectful to the Major. Feygor did what he was told and didn't asked questions; he trusted Rawne, and perhaps was the only one that did it out of respect rather than fear and awe. Banda was a whole different story; she was rude to everybody, with no regard to rank or authority, she was inquisitive and questioning, and she never saw anything he was trying to do and productive. And she kept damn well WINKING at him! When they got out of here, he was going to file a report to Gaunt against her for attempting to fratinise with a superior officer.  
'Sir, the buggies are ready to go!' Said a Ghost, Sergeant Hadsmitt. Rawne nodded and turned to the men.  
'Alright, all squads into a buggy and follow me through the tunnels! One squad per Bunker, and make sure every position if guarded, alright?'  
There was a chorus of understanding, and Rawne jumped into the drivers seat of a buggy. He was shocked to find someone already sitting in it, and rolled off them into the passengers seat.  
'Could you warn me next time you're about to do that?' Banda chuckled, brushing her uniform down. Rawne gritted his teeth,  
'what are you doing in the drivers seat?' He growled. Banda just grinned wider.  
'Driving sir. You'll need your hands free to direct the squads into the Bunkers sir,' She said sweetly. Rawne glared at her; she had a point, but he was damned if he'd ever admit it.  
'Alright, but take it easy,' He warned her. He turned to the rest of the column of buggies, each one packed with Ghosts.  
'Alright, move out!'  
  
Twenty minutes later, the pocket of air washed over the bunkers. It was a massive stretched of hot, still air, many miles across and just as wide by the estimates of the omniscopes. For the first five minutes, nothing moved, except the whirring gun turrets of the Bunkers as they searched for victims.  
And then the forces of Chaos emerged; they looked like bandits, wearing thick ragged cloaks of Sandwalker hides and carrying long bladed sticks along with primitive projectile weapons. They ran forward, waving their blade-sticks above their heads and yelling in a long, yodeling scream. As they closed, the defenders could see their faces; they wore thick, smoked glass goggles and moth protectors to prevent sand getting into their nose and mouth. It gave them a horribly insectoid look as they stormed up the steep sandy slopes to reach the guardsmen. The initial volley felled many as they slowly made their way up the banks to the defended positions, but then more forces came out the storm, this time with heavy weaponry. They were carried on huge howadahs, which were strapped to the backs of Sandwalkers; massive, shaggy furred beasts with rams horns and tusks curling from their thick, long snouted skulls. They appeared to be ancient pattern las cannons, and did not appear to have the sheer power of the Imperial standard weapons, but they still took three bunkers down before retreating to a safe distance, harried by the stinging shots of the lasguns. From his own Bunker, Gaunt watched them flee.  
'We've got them on the run now!' Domor said, his optical implants zooming out to follow their retreat, 'We've broken them.'  
'No,' Gaunt said, 'We haven't.'  
'Sir?'  
'They're making way for something. Something much bigger than themselves,' Gaunt said darkly. Suddenly, the scanning machinery that was strapped to the wall began to blip madly.  
'Sir, massive movement detected, to the north west, two blips!'  
Gaunt turned to watch the massive storm. Suddenly, a much dark shadows amongst the swirling mass appeared, and formed a giant figure that moved through the stinging grains of sand like it was no more than a thin mist. A foot broke into the calm of the air pocket, slamming down with enough force to shake the sand dunes piled around the bunker. When it raised again, Gaunt noticed that it had been fused into mirca-glass. The rest of it emerged from the sandstorm; a towering creature of some fifty feet, brutally spiked and daubed in chaotic runes and symbols that made the air thrum and shimmer with their mere presence. The cultists began to chant again, screeching in their dark tongue and bowing low to the new creature. The thing raised it's heavy arms to the sky, and roared, but Gaunt noticed something wrong; it sounded artificially, like a vox-enhancer rather than a animal cry.  
'Holy God-Emperor protect us,' He breathed, 'A Titan. They have a damned Titan.'  
  
Well, another chapter down, and now we know what blew the hell out of Bunker 64. Hope this chapter pleases (or at least fails to offend) and prepare thyself for a battle of epic proportions next chapter.  



End file.
